


TL

by Emma_Oz



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:04:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Oz/pseuds/Emma_Oz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time Jeeves' master plan involves the ever compliant Bertie cross dressing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TL

 

The matter of the mauve frock, the commodious handbag, and true love began with the entrance of an Aunt.  Aunts and TL are rarely intertwined in this way, but in this case it was so and I will be forever grateful to the old thing.

 

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Aunt Dahlia hove into view about threeish, appearing decidedly non-brightish. She had the air of one who had backed a horse which had developed spavins half way through the Grand National.   I could tell at a glance that something was up.  

 

“Something is up,” I declared,”Would a scotch and water help?”

 

I am not always such a soft touch for Aunts, but Aunt Dahlia holds pride of place among my collection of elderly female relatives.  She is a veritable prince among Aunts and Woosters know her value.

 

“Heavy on the scotch, not too much water,” Aunt Dahlia replied, settling into the sofa with the mien on one much put upon by the world.

 

Jeeves shimmied in with two scotch and H20s in hand, and Aunt Dahlia brightened markedly at the sight of him.  “Just the man I wanted to see,” she cried, “You see, Tom’s in a devil of a pickle and I’m at my wits end trying to think of a way out of it.”

 

The situation she outlined was indeed one to perplex and bewilder.  In a nutshell it was thus: Uncle Tom, a meek man whose only interests were the accumulation of wads of cash and the collecting of silverware, had recently entered into negotiations with one Blevins, head of some company or the other.  All appeared to be developing according to plan, and Uncle Tom had even had the blighter over to dinner with an assortment of his relatives, when disaster struck.  

 

After the meal in question Uncle Tom noticed that his silver cow creamer, pride and joy of his collection, was missing.  Police were called in and inquiries were, as the papers say, progressing, when Aunt Dahlia mentioned the matter in passing to one of her intimates.  Imagine her shock when she discovered that said silver cow creamer was at that very moment in time sitting in the drawing room chez Blevins, the object of general admiration.  On careful inquiry to those in the know she discovered that one of Blevins’ elderly relatives was generally acknowledged to be a kleptomaniac and apparently skipped from one place to the next, picking up small oddments as she went.  The Blevins entourage were, alas, entirely unaware of this eccentricity.  

 

The key to the matter, the crux if you will, was that the silver cow creamer had to be recovered if Uncle Tom was to know any happiness in future years, but Blevins was not to be off-sided at any price.  You can see at once how it was.  A man does not like to be told his relatives are little more than sneak thieves.  He does not like to think about the family tree and to contemplate the slow descent into kleptomania which lies before him. So such matters could not be brought to the attention of Blevins senior.  It was a doozy of a problem and had me quite baffled.

 

Aunt Dahlia concluded the tale with a sigh, and looked beseechingly at Jeeves.  “It may be too much even for you, but do have a little think about it.”

 

I too turned my eye Jeeves-ward, though in my case there was more confidence behind the gaze.  More faith, as it were.  Jeeves is a man of prodigious intellect, virtually raised on a diet of fish, and I knew he would immediately see the way to fix the whole business up.

 

My confidence, or faith if you will, was not misplaced.  “I would suggest, Mrs Travers, that Mr Blevins is not particularly attached to the creamer.  He did not, after all, purchase it.  Were it to disappear from his residence he would make little or no effort to retrieve it.”

 

“But how is it to disappear?” I asked blankly.

 

“I would recommend that you infiltrate the Blevins household in some trifling disguise,” Jeeves said in that firm manner that reminds me that he always knows what he is doing. 

 

“Sound idea,” trumpeted Aunt Dahlia.

 

“Soundish,” I said reluctantly.  Noblesse obliged me to assist, but I harboured phantom fears. “I’m always happy to help an aunt in need, but what if I am caught?”

 

“You forgot about the trifling disguise,” the aunt said bracingly.

 

“Indeed, sir, I suggest that you gain entrance to the house on the guise of a request to support a charity and that you assume the guise of a distressed gentlewoman. Such a figure would never be connected with a young gentleman about town such as yourself.”

 

I goggled at him but Jeeves continued unflustered. “Mr Blevins is well known for having a soft heart for animal charities of the sort often run by gentlewomen.  You should have little trouble gaining entrance to the house with such a ruse and, once in the drawing room, it will be a simple matter of taking the cow creamer and departing.”

 

I was reluctant to don the garb of the feminine sex - just not suitable for a man of my age. I was dubious but Aunt Dahlia’s confidence in the scheme moved all before her. In a vain attempt to avoid the task I pointed to the only flaw in the plan that I could see. “I could go tonight,” I agreed, “But what of the disguise?  Won’t it take some little while to get together a collection of women’s togs that fit me?  I’m not exactly the standard size for a girl, you know.”

 

But Jeeves assured the young master all would be well.  “I feel confident I can acquire a suitable outfit by this evening,” he said, and dashed if he didn’t!

 

****************************************************************************************************************************

Jeeves produced a mauve frock and various accouterments to go with it.  It was a frilly number - not the sort of rig you see bright young things wear to the races, more the sort of outfit worn by kindly women of a certain age.

 

I must say I was slightly taken aback by the getup but Jeeves providing instructions on dressing.  A veritable fount of knowledge, Jeeves.  I told him as much as I pulled on my stockings.

 

“You astound me, Jeeves.” I fumbled with the straps.  Women’s clothing is filled with these deuced fiddly bits.

 

“The form of the items suggests their function, sir.  If I may-” He too the fastenings from my hands and neatly completed them. “Your slip, sir.”

 

The attire itself was oddly fetching.  It was a tasteful enough affair, with a frilly bit around the neck and a balloony bit to disguise the chest.  I paraded back and forth in my pointed shoes, glimpsing myself in the mirror and watching Jeeves’ careful observation behind me.

 

****************************************************************************************************************************

I’ve always looked upon burglary as a skill requiring nerves of steel, but I see now that if directed by Jeeves a child can do it.  I simply turned up on the doorstep and was accepted as the representative of the Battersea haven for cats and canaries that I claimed to be.  While the housekeeper was fetching some coinage, I oozed across the room and pocketed the creamer.  Well, not pocketed as such, since the mauve frock Jeeves had selected was deuced short on pockets.  But it came with a rather snappy handbag in which the creamer was easily concealed.  

 

It was but the work of a moment, and I was then able to take the donation (later forwarded to aforesaid charity) and tootle over to Aunt Dahlia’s to hand over the silver cow creamer to the rapturous cries of Uncle Tom.

 

****************************************************************************************************************************

You see now how the mauve frock and the commodious handbag fit into the scenario, but you are wondering how the true love comes into the picture.  TL did not hove into view until I returned home and was enjoying a well deserved cocktail.

 

What with one thing and another, I was feeling slightly disgruntled by the time I got home.  One thing being the inevitable post-theft let-down - no wonder burglars seem to turn to drink.  The other being the rather unkind comments Angela had made about my appearance at Aunt Dahlia’s.  

 

You would think that rescuing her father’s silver cow creamer would have earned her respect, but she seemed unable to look beyond the mauve frock to the hero within.  Her mocking words stayed with me, and I gazed upon the mirror with what might best be termed the unsatisfied eye.

 

“Angela really is pestilential,” I told Jeeves with some anger, “She said I looked positively gaunt in this frock.”

 

“Lithesome, I would have said,” Jeeves replied soothingly.  He handed me a second of his wonderful cocktails which soothed further still.

 

“And my nose.  She said my nose pokes out too far and is unseemly.  Do you think I have an unseemly nose, Jeeves?”

 

“Patrician, sir.”

 

I looked upon the proboscis again and felt much encouraged.  I turned back to Jeeves. “And my mouth?  Angela said it reminded her of a frog’s.  Too wide, she said, and prone to inane grinning.”

 

“Generous, sir, and kissable.”

 

I am happy to say my eyes were fixed Jeeves at that moment, and I saw his shocked expression when he realised what he had said.  I took a trembling step towards him, he took an equally trembling step towards me, and before you know it I was positively in his arms.  

 

Kissable my mouth may well be; well kissed it certainly was.  Some indeterminate amount of time later I raised my eyes to his.  “Good Lord, Jeeves.  I mean - dash it - how long...?”

 

As always, Jeeves understood me. “I have nursed a flame for some time now, sir.”

 

I held up a hand. “Bertie please.”

 

“It was only tonight when I saw you despondent at what should have been a moment of victory that my ardor overwhelmed me. It will not happen again, sir - Bertie.”

 

I eyed him happily. “I certainly hope it does.”  A thought struck me. “Perhaps I could recreate the circumstances.  Not the cow creamer, of course, but the outfit.”

 

Jeeves coughed as he does when he wants the young master’s attention. “I believe I have a silk peignoir in my room that would suit you.”

 

I slipped my hand into his. “Lead on, Jeeves.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sarren for the great beta job and the encouragement. And to Jeeves and Bertie, of course.


End file.
